Victor's Thoughts
by viciousboar
Summary: What does each victor think as they're in the arena?
1. Gloss

_I have to live up to her. I have to live up to her._

Frantically swinging the axe like a maniac, acting completely like a desperate tribute, Gloss frantically swung the weapon around him until he was dizzy.

Cashmere was probably laughing her head off right now. She was probably thinking of how her fraternal twin could never do just as good as her. And it was probably true.

_Two down, three more to go, _Gloss thought, as he looked down at the victims of District 8, who had attempted to pair up as allies.

He should have seen it coming, two years ago. When Cashmere came home, victor of the 66th Hunger Games.

Because the Capitol is stupid. Because they rig the stupid reaping.

And now, two years later, he's standing the the lush, rainforest-themed arena of the 68th Hunger Games.

It was like life had taken a swing at him, and decided to come right back and punch him.

Did his sister feel like this then? Picking off the 23 other tributes she'd been reaped with?

And the Capitol was probably having a riot as well. Cashmere's brother, will he succeed?

Was it fair? No. Did they have any right to cart off his sister to the Capitol? No. Were they justified in reaping him as well? No.

But it doesn't matter. Because life isn't fair.


	2. Finnick

_They love me. The fake me._

Mags had clearly seen many tributes come and go. And he was determined to not be one to go.

He couldn't. Not when he'd come this far.

What would happen if he died? What would happen to all his friends, his family? Would they forget him, saying he'd changed once he left District 4? Or would they remember him as the real Finnick Odair?

He looked at the girl caught in the net he had set up in the eye. She was like him. Desperate to get home, trying to get through all of the tributes to get to that.

But he had ruined her chances. But he had also ruined his chances. Of having a perfectly normal life. If he had just died, died days ago, at the Cornucopia, he would be okay.

Because then he wouldn't have to come out, to come out not being someone he wasn't.

He would have to fake. Fake everything.

Mags had told him, every one to ever make it out, they always regret it. Because then they live a celebrity life, the worst kind of life to live. And their lives are accompanied by the nightmares of the Hunger Games events.

And if he _did _let the girl go, and let her kill him, that would be selfish. That would be like forcing that life onto her instead. And that was cruel.

So there he whispered, in a barely audible voice, just so the cameras couldn't hear, "I'm sorry. But I'm doing you a favor."

His trident did the the rest of the work.


	3. Haymitch

_Only 47 others this time. What difference does it make?  
I'm still gonna be the one to make it out._

Maysilee was probably his only friend. Screw the other tributes.

He _needed _her. She saved him; he could depend on her.

So the most idiotic decision he ever made in his life was turning his back on _her. _Damn pink birds. They can all go to hell. Right after the Gamemakers.

But he can't, he _can't _cry. Not when he'd already composed his image. His tough image, the carefree Haymitch that didn't care that there were 47 instead of 23, 24 more to kill.

Distracting himself with the force field was entertaining, but he _had_ to keep moving. He _had_ to get away from everything.

But he couldn't.

Because this was the damn Quarter Quell.

He _has _to win. Not just for Maysilee, but so he can come home, honor her death respectfully {because being dragged away by a helicopter is _disgracing}_.

He just _has_ to prove himself. Otherwise, his brother, his mother, his girlfriend; what will they do?

Nothing. Because they can't.

But he also needs to come back because District 12 actually needs some honor. So they're not the scoff-worthy district for once.

His mentor was the only one to make it back. But he's way too drunk, seeing so many go by, to even give a shred of advice to the four helpless teens.

But maybe he has a point. Drinking.

It might _wash_ everything _away_.


	4. Enobaria

_Something to notice. Something no one's done before._

She was always tough. Always brave. Always vicious.

Yet no one _noticed_.

No one noticed there was a ruthless monster underneath.

Of course she had friends, she had family. She grew up training, looking forward to the annual reaping.

But her name was _never _picked. How else could she ever prove herself?

And when she was 18, when Enobaria finally gave up hope she'd ever get to the bloodthirsty Capitol, _her_ name was picked.

But even if she won, she wouldn't necessarily be looked at as _fierce_. Some of the ignoramus victors acted so un-Hunger Games-like, it was like they were trying to forget the whole thing.

But how could you?

Wasn't it an honor, an honor to be noticed? To have the light shine on you for fifteen damn minutes?

Is it possible you don't want the glory that winning brought?

Truth is, most of them didn't.

So what do the citizens of the Capitol really look forward to in the Games?

The answer is: the _blood._

To kill someone excruciatingly, to spill out all the blood and guts, and make them suffer as much as possible that's what they wanted {_even though it's not humanly}_.

But if, that's what they want, she'll give it to 'em.


	5. Morphling 1

_What's gonna wash this away?_

The Gamemakers are sick. That's what they are.

Who designs a giant 'cheese shredder arena' and then shoves twenty-four kids in it so that they may fight to the death?

District partner already gone, ally shredded to pieces days ago, all she could do was sit in the shadows and watch.

But it _killed _her.

How could anyone _watch_ such a horrible event? How was this anywhere near entertaining?

The citizens of the Capitol were just as sick as the Gamemakers, really.

Through the holes of the 'sky,' she could view the false rainbow the Gamemakers had painted across the artificial sky.

Huh, what colors they picked! If _she_ had designed it, it would have looked ten times better.

Then again, she would never take part in encouraging these Games.

With javelin in hand, she started pacing the edge of the arena. There was only one tribute left; staying on the sidelines had its benefits.

What could she do about it? She was never really all rebellious, and all she was was a teenage tribute trying to get home {much like the other one}.

Suddenly, she was pushed, and she fell face-first into the sharp slot of the side, and her forehead was slashed; a huge gash in her forehead she tried to stand up, only failing in her futile attempt.

Blinded by the blood pouring down her head, she gripped the shaft of her weapon firmly and threw it to where the best of her senses told her the enemy was standing. The scream told her she actually made it.

And then there was a canon shot, and it's _over, _all over.

But what's going to make the pain go away?


	6. Johanna

_They all think I'm some dunce airhead. Ha. **Never** overlook a possible opponent._

Idiots. They believe it. They _actually_ believe it. I'm not even _good _at drama.

None of them are tough. None of them are strong. None of them are real competitors.

That's totally why I'm gonna win. Gonna kick some ass once the number of people stoops down to **b**e**l**o**w** five.

I gotta admit though, it's pretty hard to watch all this gore. All this fighting. It _really_ is disgusting.

But all of us have to put up with it. Only the weak go off the deep end.

Unfortunately, that included my mentor. No help, _that_ one was. My partner from District 7 went in unprepared. I'm lucky enough to be smart enough to have my own strategy.

And of course, my stylist who dressed me up in the ridiculous tree costume helped to add to my charade. I _really_ just wanted to strip down, right there, in Circle City.

I'll admit, it _is _really hard to go on. The dude from District 5 completely lost it at the Cornucopia, and committed suicide right on the spot {that must have been hilarious to the Capitol}.

And the punk girl from District 6, the one who swore to take down anyone who looked at her twice, got her arm chopped off; she was too shocked to moved, and just bled to death. I watched the whole thing from the tree top. _Disgusting_ entertainment.

But I'm way stronger than everyone else. I have the guts to bear through this all.

One girl from my prep team, the only one who didn't cry or whine or sympathize me while she applied my makeup, had shown me a newspaper; it predicted I'd be one of the first to go.

_Ha_. I'm still here, aren't I?

Morons.

I'm above them all. And I'm gonna win.


	7. Annie

_Swim. Just keep swimming. Just _swim.

It's hard to watch gore, even when it's on a screen.

But it's even harder to watch it in PeRSOn.

Her district partner, her _one_ connection to home in this godforsaken arena, was g o n e. Head chopped off. Severed. Dead.

Well, if she was going to make it, it had to happen sometime. Annie just didn't expect it to be so quickly.

It's what drove her to _madness_. Insanity. Over the _**e**dg_**e**.

So crazy, that she could hear the waves, crashing, tumbling onto land.

Two minutes later, when she could feel the water lapping the heels of her feet, she _realized_.

It's **real_. _**And she's got to **swim_._**

Because if she does, she'll make it back. To treatment. To safety. To those green eyes that seem to help make things better.

Green eyes that belonged to Finnick Odair.

The gorgeous, depressed mentor that had seen one to many District 4 tributes die.

She was _not_ going to let him down.

Just keep swimming. Until everyone else is g o n e.

Just keep swimming.


	8. Morphling 2

_The world is a terrible place, really_.

He really doesn't have time for the reaping.

He just wants to sit behind the Justice Building and draw a world. The kind that doesn't include horrific dreams or drug-addicts or any form of bad. Just a place full of rainbows and smiles that twelve-year old Axel imagines.

But that's not really what the Capitol wants. They want gory images and bloody fights plastered across television screens and ingrained in citizen's minds countrywide.

And that's what led to him standing onstage, sobbing, as the boy tribute for the 53rd Hunger Games.

Too bad life isn't picture perfect.

A society where everyone's jolly and pleasant - that would be wonderful, if it existed.

He trembles as he's lifted into the arena. As soon as the case is removed and the timer is done, he scrams away from the bloodbath, grabbing a tiny backpack while he's at it.

These aren't the happy things he's used to drawing - no carefree, jocular spirit in sight.

Just tools and weapons created for destruction.

After he grabs a pack and leaves, he flees to hide. Axel only forces himself to use the implements if necessary, for _survival_.

The arena - it's full of the unknown, unpredictable, scariness he tries to force out of his own life back home. It scares him and he doesn't think he'll be able to draw or paint his way out of this.

Everyone says he won't make it {and who's to blame them?}. When Axel is faced with the last two tributes of the game, he doesn't feel pride or any sort of victory that he's made it this far.

He is full of sheer terror.

He is so afraid, he closes his eyes, forgetting he's fighting for his life and imagines birds singing and bees buzzing in a District far, far away from here. District 6. Home.

And then he's hit.

He's been burned, starved, and almost eaten so far {the terror, the terror, will it go away?}, but never slashed by another tribute.

The blow sits him down on the floor, and he twists and screams in agony at the searing pain. Everyone thinks he's dying, but he's _not_.

Because even though he's screaming, he's still imagining and focusing on that picture perfect world behind closed eyes, all while the last two tributes duke it out.

They finish each other off and he's lugged back to the Capitol. At least back to where paper and pencil are plentiful. But he doesn't want that. He wants all the bad things he saw and did to go away.

And he's treated and healed and tidied up.

"What's that?" Axel asks, and they unhook the cord linked to his injury. It felt _so_ good. The hallucinations? They _were_ that pretty world, the place to get away from all the horror.

"Morphling, kid. You should stay away from it."

Yeah, _right_.


End file.
